Accelerated Adolescence

Musings of an Absent mind

Fog curled into the nooks between hills. A disturbed stream, it roiled and bubbled on its surface. Arising from the cloud he felt the wet wispiness cling to his skin. The vantage point on the hill was worth the hike. The city hid itself in the dark of night and the white mist, reflecting the moonlight, obscured his view. Its angst and shame went to bed. Its humiliation and fear stepped back into the closet and the residents of that sinful city slept soundly. Still, one window's flickering light peered out above the village. A haunting ballad lifted up through that mist and, on the far side of town, the wanderer shivered as he heard her cool piercing soprano.

O little one who father hugged,
Who felt his hateful breath,
And chilled thy little bones,
It is his time for death.

Brave beloved, take my hand,
And wipe away your tiny tears,
His hateful breath is no more,
You've nothing more to fear.

A few lonely tears marked the barren landscape of the wanderer's face and splooshed onto his leathery jacket. The silence pervaded his being. Weary, he lifted his tired body and began his journey anew.